


Caring for Perfect Love

by StarrisonGarden



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Fluff, Friar Park, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 19:23:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12065421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarrisonGarden/pseuds/StarrisonGarden
Summary: George is happiest making sure his love is properly cared for - love for his garden and love for others, especially when the two are combined.





	Caring for Perfect Love

**Author's Note:**

> I finally felt I've written some proper, shameless Starrison fluff thanks to a prompt I got from a friend who suggested "Buying flowers," but of course I felt I could tailor that to fit the canon! One tidbit that might enhance your understanding of the title and story: if you don't know the symbolism of flower colors, do the quick research; hopefully it'll be worthwhile. :)

George’s gaze roamed over the trail as he walked along, paying close attention to the flowers and plants that lined the trail. He walked slowly, having planned to take special care of maintaining the great, expansive garden on his own today. He wasn’t even a quarter of the way through its various footpaths, but, besides being the sole gardener on the grounds today, he was searching for something – something only he would end up finding after careful inspection of the gardens.

As he meandered along, he knelt down every so often to check plants and flowers who didn’t seem to be thriving in their area, so he’d carefully dig them up from their spot and carry them along with him until he found a place along the trail that seemed to glow with the promise of prosperity. So far he’d managed to relocate five different plants and flowers as well as stopping to weed anything that looked to be in distress.

After standing up from weeding a small cluster of yellow and white daffodils, he finally spied what he'd been looking for. A smile spread across his face with excitement as he tread forward gingerly, the trail suddenly squeezed narrow as it ventured into an untraveled grassy area, and made his way to a patch of tulips.

Off to the left of the largest patch, he knelt down beside a collection of purple, pink, yellow, and red tulips. One red tulip that stood slightly away from the rest of the bunch caught his attention and, cupping one petal in his palm, he observed its crinkled edge, seemingly folded as though someone had dog-eared it like the page of a book. Making sure not to pull the petal too far away from the inner petals, he positioned his thumbs on either side of the petal and slowly pressed together and slid his thumbs upwards. When he moved his hands away, the petal unfolded for a few seconds before crinkling back into place, though he noted how the crease seemed slightly smoother this time, less angular and obvious. He smiled sadly at it, and after a minute of looking at with pity, plucked it from the ground, running his hand almost self-consciously over the disturbed Earth, feeling its lonesome roots poking up slightly from the ground.

“I’ll take care of you when I come back,” he whispered to himself, his guilty stare fixed on the hardly discernable remains of the red tulip. He repeated the same sentiment to the other purple, pink, and numerous red tulips he picked until he had a bunch that fit almost snugly in one hand.

Turning back in spite of not even walking a third of the verdant grounds, he strode home, his collection of flowers tucked into his elbow and his other hand stuffed into his pocket.

Once out of the garden, he stopped at one of the garden houses and searched through shelves and sifted through cupboards, mumbling to himself about a “string” or “ribbon” or “anything to tie around this bloody bunch, come on…” Finally emerging with a long, green ribbon, he cut it to an appropriate length and secured it around the tulips' stems. He stepped back once from the counter where they lay and admired the gift before heading back home, a slight spring in his step.

Arriving back at the house, he slipped in through the back door and went as far as the kitchen before calling out, “Ritchie!” The name echoed off the walls and returned silence. Trying again, he finally heard a muffled reply.

“What?” he called back loudly.

“In here!”

He huffed out a sigh. “Where?”

“Living room!”

Shaking his head, he followed the hallway through the kitchen and past another hallway until he emerged in the spacious living area.

“You’re surely not done making your rounds, are you?” a gruff voice inquired from the sofa which was then followed by loud crunching.

“No, I’m not even half done,” George explained as he moved around the couch to face Ringo. “But I found something.” He smiled sheepishly at the older man sprawled out over the couch, a TV remote beside him and a bag of crisps nestled into his side.

Ringo removed his hand from the bag and stared, puzzled, at the bouquet in George’s hand. “Oh? Who’re those for?”

“Brigitte Bardot,” George deadpanned, then rolled his eyes at Ringo’s unchanged reaction. “Come here, luv.”

Wearily, Ringo sat up and slowly pushed himself off the couch into a standing position. He barely stepped forward before George impatiently closed the space between them. George held the flowers out to Ringo who took them in one hand and found it difficult to fit his whole hand, smaller than George’s, around the stems securely without losing them to the floor. He turned them slowly in a circular motion to admire every flower and stopped at one red tulip, its outermost petal looking slightly doctored. He raised his amused gaze to meet George’s who grinned bashfully.

Shaking his head, Ringo smiled and took a step closer to George, holding the flowers slightly to the side so he wouldn’t squash them between them. “They’re lovely.”

George leaned down to press a sweet kiss to Ringo’s lips in response.

“Do we have a vase? We’ll have to take good care of them,” Ringo said, still looking at George, his voice soft and concerned.

“Of course we will,” George said with a pleased smile. Nothing but deep affection seemed to flourish between them, the flowers held safely within their shared grasp.


End file.
